


Devil Tips His Hat (Outtake)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-12
Updated: 2006-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Here's the thing about eternity: you're gonna be around forever, you've gotta learn to make your own fun.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**devil tips his hat.**         _outtake_  
Supernatural. Sam/Dean. NC-17. Warnings for vampirism, incest, language, murder, (mock?) prostitution, crackfic and dark humor. Outtake from [this](http://wheebubbles.livejournal.com/9756.html) fic. Unbetaed. Written for [ ](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://la-folle-allure.livejournal.com/)**la_folle_allure** because she flails so pretty and in all the right places. ♥ But really? There is no excuse for this.  
  
  
"Blend in," Sam repeats slowly.  
  
"Yeah," Dean says, stretching his arms above his head and hooking his fingers in the gap between headboard and wall. "I mean, every shitty little town's got at least a few whores, right?"  
  
"What, now you want to pay the people we kill?"  
  
"I gotta spell everything out for you, Sammy? How you got that scholarship..." Dean shakes his head. "Come on. Sun's down, and I'm hungry."  
  
::  
  
Here's the thing about eternity: you're gonna be around forever, you've gotta learn to make your own fun. If that means working a bit for a meal, then, yeah, so be it. Because, Dean thinks, being bored forever is just a waste of perfectly good immortality.  
  
Plus, there's something really hot about Sam's hooker lean against that wall. Just saying.  
  
It should surprise Dean, how willing Sam is to pull all this stuff now. But maybe vampirism's like being really drunk in a way. Inhibitions? Gone. Takes care of some of those pesky vulnerabilities to human death, too.  
  
But willing. Yeah, he looks willing. The customers can see it too. It doesn't take long and then there's this guy—shit, he looks older than their _father_ —who looks like he's used to this. He barely pauses when he walks past Sam, an almost imperceptible nod of his head, and Sam takes it all in stride. He falls into step a few feet behind the guy and they turn the corner into an alley. By the light of cheap, flickering neon, Dean sees another hustler glare at Sam as they walk past. Concerned that Sam's stealing business or something, he guesses.  
  
Dean fidgets a bit, and he gives Sam a few minutes' head start before pushing open the car door and following. It's a dark alley with a dead end, and they're half hidden in the shadow of a dumpster, but Dean walks up just in time to see Sam going for the jugular. The guy's scream is muffled by Sam's hand coming up to cover his mouth, and he lifts his head when he hears Dean coming. Sam smiles, lips painted red like he's a twelve year old who doesn't yet know how to apply her make-up right, and his eyes glint in Dean's direction when he brother joins him.  
  
He grabs the customer's flailing arm, holds him still, and sinks his teeth into the skin of his throat. They throw the body in the dumpster when they're done.  
  
Sam wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and spits onto the gravel. "Man, you owe me. Big."  
  
"Yeah? Why's that? We found dinner, didn't we?"  
  
"You ever listen to a sixty-something redneck try his hand at dirty talk?"  
  
"Dude. Can't've been _that_ bad. I only left you alone for a few minutes."  
  
Sam shakes his head. "You owe me," he repeats, determined.   
  
"Huh." Dean scratches the back of his neck, feigns pondering and says slowly, "You could, uh, take it out in trade. What'd'you think? And because I'm your very favorite brother, you'd even give me a discount, right?"  
  
Sam pretends to consider it. "You know, demon strength and all, I could probably fuck you standing up."  
  
"Or I could just suck your dick."  
  
He nods, still thoughtful. "Or you could do that." He lets his hand rest on his belt for a moment before he tugs it loose and thumbs open the button of his jeans.  
  
Dean grins and pushes Sam's hand away to tug down the zipper himself. "Well, all right then," he says and drops calmly to his knees.  
  
::  
  
So, about Dean. More importantly, about Dean's mouth. Sam really, really likes Dean's mouth. It's crossed his mind that if the incest deal ever got them arrested, Sam could win their court case just by blaming Dean's mouth, because... Jesus. And he won't even get into the details, like about how fucking hot Dean looks when he's got his lips stretched over Sam's cock, because his mouth goes all red and wet and he does this thing with his tongue and just the lightest touch of his teeth and—  
  
Sam presses his palm flat against the bricks at his back, digging his fingernails into the weak mortar and dirt. Later, his hands might be bleeding and scabbed, but for now... " _Fuck_ , Dean, just—just. Oh, _god_."  
  
And Dean, the bastard, laughs. Laughs at Sam and the mostly incoherent noises he's been reduced to, and Sam can feel it and picture Dean grinning around his dick and the mental image alone is almost too much. Over his own breathing, ragged and too loud in the alley, Sam hears himself make this fucking ridiculous whimpering noise he didn't think could even _be_ a sound, and Dean lifts his head, lets Sam's cock slip out of his mouth long enough to say, "Having fun, Sammy?"  
  
Sam's hips jerk forward and he groans, says, "Dean, please, please, just don't—don't stop, Jesus fuck, _please_."  
  
In some other, barely-functioning part of his brain, Sam registers the sight of Dean groping for his own dick, his jeans undone and dragged hurriedly halfway down his thighs. Dean squeezes at the base once, hard, holding himself back. "So fucking hot when you beg," he mutters, and Sam's next plea turns to a long, low moan halfway out of his mouth as Dean goes down on him again.  
  
::  
  
"So. We even?"  
  
Sam shoots him a sidelong glance. "No way, man. I'm going to have to carry those mental scars forever. Keys."  
  
"Sure sounded like you were forgiving me, Sammy." There's a jingle of metal as Dean tosses a key ring over. "Admit it, little brother. Easiest fifty bucks you ever made."  
  
Sam smiles and jerks the door open. "Seventy-five. I charged him extra for the blood play."  
 


End file.
